


what is and what should never be

by rocknrolljunkie989



Series: tripping through tangled heartstrings [4]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, Love Triangles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6740179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocknrolljunkie989/pseuds/rocknrolljunkie989
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breaking up is harder than François expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what is and what should never be

“I can’t do this anymore.”

The words sweep through the room and carry away all conception of conversation. Silence settles into the absence of discourse, into the throats of both men until François feels like he could choke on it; it wraps around their limbs and locks them into place, two classical statues carved into a dim hotel room in Italy.

When Jacky moves, he does it in slow-motion - the cigarette perched between two fingers arcs up to his mouth like he’s moving in zero gravity. Lips curl around one end with precision, and a deep inhale turns the other into a smoldering sunset of reds and oranges. Time stops as Jacky holds the breath inside of himself, the complicated smoke knotwork decorating his lungs like the anxiety churning in François’s stomach. And then, he exhales: 

“Why?”

Quiet. Controlled. Absolutely devoid of anything - of anger, hurt, accusation. The single question slips into the room and lingers in the air between them. François doesn’t know what he was expecting, because Jacky is not the kind of man to take things lying down. He wants - _deserves_ \- answers. It only makes sense that he should pose the question to receive them. And yet, it still comes as a surprise that leaves François speechless.

“I…” is all he can manage. A single word that explains nothing and yet personifies the whole problem.

Because the problem is, undeniably, him. François Cevert. It is not Jackie Stewart, because Jackie is nothing but a seemingly inanimate object of François’s projected desires. Jackie isn’t an obstacle to be overcome, some roadblock on the path to François and Jacky finding true love. He’s a married man, content with the family life he’s built, seemingly oblivious to the doe eyes his teammate has directed his way for the last three years. It is not even Jacky Ickx, because all of Jacky’s polarity comes from his need to separate himself from the other Jackie who resides in François’s heart.

No; it is François, with his inability to make decisions, his inability to be loyal to anyone but a man who will never love him in the way he desires, his inability to commit to a man who undoubtedly feels _something_ for him, his inability to even consider for one moment that he might be able to love something that he can attain.

He accepts the last explanation, tries and fails to expound on it: “I can’t… love you. I can’t love you.”

“You can’t?” Jacky asks, his gaze never once straying from François’s eyes, forcing him to acknowledge the man he’s about to hurt, forcing him to look his own fears and hesitations and failures in the face. “Or, you don’t want to?”

Never once does even the intimation of emotion creep into Jacky’s voice, and yet the words still break François’s heart as if he’d begged the question through tears. 

“I can’t. I _shouldn’t_.”

Jacky holds up the cigarette still smoldering away, offering François relief from their shared gaze. “You _shouldn’t_ smoke these either,” he says. Just as slowly as he’d brought it to his lips, Jacky lets the cigarette find its way to the ashtray and extinguishes its flame. “You _shouldn’t_ put your life on the line at every race. But why should you deny yourself something that you want?”

“Because you deserve more than… more than this.” The words come out of nowhere, but their truth is like a slap in the face. Before he gives himself a chance to think about it, François gestures to the room. “You deserve more than hotel rooms and hiding and someone who… who… who can’t…” The Frenchman cuts himself off and clenches his teeth. “You deserve someone who can give you what you need.”

And Jacky - he says nothing. But in that nothingness, in that lack of response, is a change of composure. Something in his face hardens like an attempt to contain emotion threatening to spill forth, and his shoulders sink just slightly - imperceptible to anyone who doesn’t know Jacky, but so very, very obvious to François. He doesn’t need to say anything (he _wouldn’t_ ) say anything, because that’s not who Jacky is), but François can hear the unspoken retort; what if what Jacky wants _is_ François, in much the same way as Jackie is what François wants? 

Neither of them need to speak; they both understand the implications behind a silence thick enough to stop up their throats.

Slowly, almost regretfully, Jacky pushes back his chair. He lets his still-faintly-smoking cigarette rest in the ashtray as he rises to his feet, and without another word, he makes to return to his own hotel room, to leave François here alone, just as the Frenchman has asked. The thought of that, though - François’s heart rate spikes, his stomach drops; something about this prospect is harder to swallow than the conversation that preceded it.

As Jacky walks by, François reaches out and catches his wrist.

**Author's Note:**

> s/o to thepagemistress for prompting this and giving me more reasons to write my favorite francophone angst bros <3 <3


End file.
